Well here we go again! I tried to write a wrestling fic a few weeks ago, it didn't go to well! I hope this one you find more appealing and hopefully it sparked some curiosity in the readers.

Disclaimer: I don't anything, if I did would I be wiping my ass clean with a smooth river stone?

Characters: Undertaker, Chris Benoit, Batista, Kane and I'll mention the others as we go along.

Summary: He doesn't leave me, I wish he would, he's going to hurt someone, but I wish he'd hurt me, he's coming again I can't stop him... Someone help me….

Prologue

"Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust,"

The priest closed the bible with an audible snap. The giant was shook from his dreams as the preacher did so, he breathed deeply, but did nothing more. The beautiful mahogany coffin was carefully lowered into the pit. The shadows surrounded the shimmering wooden structure as if the jaws of death was claming it.

It all happened in a daze after that, every man he had ever known had shown up to show their support, friends and foes alike even his manager was giving him a small, almost caring smile. But never once did the giant actually show his appreciation, he hid his eyes behind his large sunglasses and even though the weather was burning hot, had he refused to remove his leather jacket.

After everyone had left (and after he had refused many lifts from friends), he returned to the fresh grave and loomed over it, much like a vulture. He sighed;

"All three of you," he whispered in a raspy voice, "All three of you in one go, I can't believe it…."

He swallowed hard as the tears threatened to spill. His eyes stayed focussed on the tomb stone, the one that had been carved by his own hands. The stone was beautiful; Two angels with trumpets were placed on either side of the stone, on the top of the stone was a perfectly carved Harley and on the bottom a small photo of a blonde woman.

It seemed his skills had come in handy after all, but he never would have dreamed to have carved them for….

His eyes suddenly shut tightly, he dared not think of such things. Upon opening them again his vision was blurred with unshed tears, but he still refused to let them flow. Instead he gazed down a the stone once more and placing a black rose upon the fresh upturned grime he whispered to invisible ears;

"I shall return every year, upon this day, place one rose upon you. Until I myself have been claimed by death…"

He had made that promise three times in one year, but still he struggled to believe that they were truly gone.

And with that he left, the winds blew across the graveyard, brushing the tombstones with icy lips which held the promise of a winter still to come. It lingered when it felt the rose, rustling its darkened petals the wind did not read, but felt the names carved into the three headstones which stood beside each other;

Here lies:

Maggie Calloway

Our beloved daughter

Jeff Calloway

Our spirited son

Sara Calloway

My wife and my friend.

"Has he told the police what happened?"

"No"

Chris Benoit plonked down onto his bed. Mere hours had passed since the funeral and as such he was stil dressed in his suit, although the blazer had been removed due to heat. The Funeral had been no different than others he had attended, accept of course the one who was being buried. He had spoken to Mark, but only briefly, but the Deadman hadn't been too responsive.

He hadn't spoken to anyone, not even his half brother, Kane.

After the ceremony, Chris had immediately headed for his hotel room and had been relieved to find his room mate there as well. Darkness had fallen over the landscape, the lights of New York City shimmered through the windows, creating the idea that the stars had fell down to earth and had gathered on one island.

Chris smiled at the idea of the fallen stars, in times like these one needed to look at the good things in life, the things one tended to take for granted.

The wrestlers mind dwelled once again on Mark and the smile disappeared from his façade. The Undertakers demeanour had changed drastically over the past few months.

Mark Calloway had become exceptionally distant ever since his wife had died. His two Children, Maggie and Jeff, had only months prior been in a terrible accident, the details, of which, were still being kept in the dark.

But with the death of his wife, Sara, he had gone straight down. He had become more and more distant as time passed and it wasn't long before none of the Superstars could even talk to him. He just ignored them or avoided them, but either way no one could get close enough to even talk.

He had apparently found his wife in the bath tub; she was bleeding profusely from her hands and chest and had been raped viciously, raped! Chris still could not believe someone could be so sick! How it happened, though was still a mystery, but she was still alive.

Mark didn't even ask questions he had raced her to the hospital, but she had sustained too many injuries and couldn't pull through. Mark refused to cooperate with the police and due to this the case was closed.

Chris had never been particularly keen on the Deadman, but when he saw him today he knew there was more to Sara's murder than Taker was letting on and Chris wanted to find out what it was.

"I just can't believe he would willingly stop the investigation!"

"He didn't stop it, Batista!" Chris barked as he pulled of the tie, "He just refused to cooperate at all..."

Batista, who was casually leaning against the window, stared at Chris. "What's wrong?" he asked. Chris sighed, Batista was an absolute master in detecting if something was amiss, and tonight something was defiantly amiss.

"It's Mark," he said, holding the tie tightly in his hands, starring down at it and tracing the patterns with his fingers, "I'm worried, he hasn't talked to anyone, he refuses to stop wrestling, he didn't say a word at the funeral and there's even a story going around that when he heard of Sara's death he laughed!"

"You know that's not true!" Batista stated firmly.

"I know, but why is he so cold? Why isn't he breaking down, crying or at least screaming at someone!" his fingers continued to trace the green patterns on his orange tie. "It's as if he doesn't care."

"People tend to handle grief in different ways, Chris." He smiled, "This is Mark, we're talking about! Not Chavo!"

"It doesn't matter how tough you are, when you lose your entire family in less than a year," he looked up from the tie, "You at least show your grief in one way or another."

Batista's eyes were cast downward, he said no more.

Well there it is! I just had to get this out is has been nagging at me for some time and I hope you enjoyed it. I will update this story (and my others) ASAP. As I said before; I tried writing one previously, but it didn't go off to well!

So here I am again (he he he) and I hope I annoyed immensly with this one as well! ;)

Yours Insanely

Golumfryingeggs